


Daryl Dixon drabbles

by BrightestStarInTheSky



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:35:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightestStarInTheSky/pseuds/BrightestStarInTheSky
Summary: A collection of drabbles all centred around a certain redneck.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Pardon My French

It’d been two days since Glenn and Daryl had gone on that run.

You weren’t really worried that it was taking this long. The Alexandrians had raided every place within a one day trip before you’d arrived. No, you were more pissed that they left you behind.

Before you and the group had reached Alexandria, you were Daryl’s partner for runs. It’d been that way since he’d saved you back when the group was still in the prison. Back then the fact that you were a resident before all of this had happened didn’t matter.

Well, no, it did matter. But it wasn’t a reason to leave you behind.

There hadn’t been enough people to shelter you. And you were thankful for it. Without you needing to go out every other day, you’d still be the helpless medic who couldn’t even clean a gun. And you wouldn’t have become close to Daryl.

Sure you’d managed to stay alive until he found you but Daryl truly taught you how to survive. How to track and hunt. How to use and clean a weapon. He’d even let you use his crossbow a few times.

Which was why it only hurt more when you heard him utter those words.

“Ya ain’t comin’ on the run,” he’d said, not even looking at you. “Got infirmary duty from now on.”

Infirmary duty. Bullshit. More like taking care of boo boos and playing housewives.

God it’d been ages since you’d killed a walker and you were starting to miss it, miss going outside. Getting alone time with him. Although that part you would never admit to anyone.

All you’d done in the last two days was patch up a bloody knee. No wonder that place was running low on infirmary supplies. People came in for the smallest shit.

That and fixing the archer’s dumb angel jacket.

Carol had thrown it you way with a “you know how to sew right?” before leaving you with it. Sure you knew how to sew. You knew how to sew up PEOPLE. Not clothes. Never thought you’d need to say it but not the same.

After pricking your finger with the needle for the tenth time in an hour you felt your anger bubbling out of you and couldn’t restrain the shout that came out of you.

“PUTAIN DE VESTE DE MERDE !” _Fucking shit jacket!_

It’d been a while since your mother tongue had taken over without you noticing. That was truly a testament to how pissed you were. And now that you’d started you just couldn’t stop.

“Connard avec ses ailes et ses putains de bras et ses yeux trop bleus. Argh! ” _Asshole with his wings and his arms and his too blue eyes._

You balled up the vest and threw it on the side of the couch you were sitting on before lying back, throwing your arm over your eyes. You tried to calm down, control your anger, the frustration you were feeling over being stuck here.

“Oublie pas mon sourire.”

“Fucking hell, Dixon!” If you’d been tensed before it was nothing compared to now. The sneaky bastard made you jump out of your skin. “You scared the shit out of me!”

While you were trying to will your heart to slow down, Daryl walked in and grabbed his jacket, putting it back on despite the work being only half done. The way his arms flexed while doing so, god it wasn’t normal.

Then you caught the slight smirk he wore on his lips while shouldering his crossbow back on his shoulder, arm still flexed. Only then did your tired brain connect all the dots.

“Wait! You speak French?!"

You heard his chuckle but Daryl was already gone.

Putain d'archer.


	2. Soulmates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You alway bail when you and Daryl have to go on a run with a certain person.

The day before a run, you’d always make sure to pack your bag. The list varied depending on the length and who you went with but some things were essentials.

A rug, a bottle of water, two cereal bars or other dried goods, weapon and ammo, a vial of antiseptic, some gauze and suture thread and most importantly an extra set of underwear and socks. Never again would you sleep with wet socks. 

You looked around your room, trying to see if you’d forgotten anything but deep down you knew you hadn’t. 

All you could see was the mess you’d need to care of when you’d get back. The one thing that made it more bearable was the fact that it wasn’t all yours. 

After what must have been a year of being together, Daryl had finally started feeling comfortable enough to leave stuff over at your place. And so you’d ended up with bolts needing repairing on your dresser, an extra red rug on the bedside table of his side of the bed. 

You smiled when you realised you’d called it _his side_. 

Unlike you, Daryl didn’t pack beforehand. He’d just grab a bag and throw whatever in a bag, if he even took a bag with him. “Got my crossbow and a bottle of water, what else do I need?” he’d told you once.

Which was why you were surprised when he walked into the room not long after. 

“Hey, is everything okay?” you asked. It was unusual for him to come in before dark. There was always something to do outside, something to fix on his motorcycle or animals to hunt.

“Yeah, just came to check on ya and get those,” he said before heading for the discarded bolts. 

Daryl had his back to you but you knew he was still completely aware of your position in the room. You softly walked up to him and put your hand on the top of his arm, his muscles immediately tensing up. 

It still happened even after all the time you’d been together. It wouldn’t last. Most of the time he’d relax immediately, sometimes he’d even lean into your touch. Still the scars of his past, literal and figurative, would never completely fade.

Today was a leaning in kind of day. You gently tightened your grip, your thumb caressing the skin right under the edge of his sleeve and kissed his shoulder. 

“I finished packing, laid out some stuff for you too if you want it,” you hummed against his skin. 

“I’ll take a look in the mornin’.” Absolutely typical. “Carol’ll be comin’ with us on tha’ run.”

It was your turn to get tensed and with your hand still on Daryl’s shoulder there was no way he hadn’t noticed.

“What’s the deal with ya and Carol?” his voice was a lot colder now. It was obvious from the way he gripped the bolts it was costing him a lot to stay calm. 

“Nothing.”

It wasn’t a lie. You liked Carol a lot, loved going on runs with her. She was good at it, great even. Her humour was even sharper than her blade. Still it was the wrong thing to say.

“’Nough with the bullshit!” he snapped at you, shrugging you off and finally turning to look at you. “Why ‘re ya always bailin’ on runs with her?”

“I’m not, I went with her on the last one.” 

This was the wrong thing to say and you’d realised it as soon as the words left your mouth. He squinted at your and you saw one of his first tighten in anger.

“Ya righ’, it’s jus’ when I’m there.” There was a shift in his demeanor when he said it. He seemed colder, meaner. “Wha’s up with that? Ain’t trustin’ me no more? That it?” 

You thought you’d been subtle about it, that he hadn’t noticed. But of course he did. That’s what drew you to him in the first place. How observant he was. How he’d take notice in the smallest of things. 

“God no, Daryl. Of course not!” You could feel your eyes starting to burn, the beating of yoru heart resounding in your ears.

“Wha’ is it, then?” he shouted.

“What if something happened, huh?” you shouted right back, tears now running down your face. “What if you had to make a choice between me and Carol?! Which one would you pick, your girl or your soulmate?”

Whatever he was expecting as an answer, this was not it. He clenched and unclenched his jaw, struggling with what to say next. You took a few deep shuddering breath, trying to calm down a bit. 

Daryl’s eyes seemed lighter, clearer when he looked at you. Like the anger that had inhabited him moments ago had started lifting.

“There’s no right or wrong option here,” you sighed. Your hands were still shaking but the buzzing in your ears was starting to fade away. “You’ll end up hating yourself no matter what and I refuse to be a part of that.” 

You had to look away. You couldn’t look at his conflicted face, his brain already torturing him with a scenario that had kept you awake more nights than you cared to admit. 

Not waiting for his answer, unsure one would even come, you walked out of the room. You needed out, real out not stuck between the walls of Alexandria. 

Between the tears and your shaky hands you were having a hard time securing your holster to your thigh, hunched over trying to close a damn buckle. 

You were so focused on the task, you didn’t hear him approach you, not that you ever did, and jumped when you saw shoes right in front of yours, dropping your weapon. The loud metallic clank the only sound in the room. 

“Listen I—” But he didn’t let you finish. 

Daryl pulled you into a hug, one of those rare ones you he knew he gave more to comfort himself that the person he was desperately holding on to. His arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, one of his hands coming to cover your head , bringing it even closer to his chest like he was trying to shelter you from the outside world. 

You closed your eyes and held him back, your hands gripping the back of his shirt.

“I’d pick ya,” he whispered into your hair.

A small, sad chuckle escaped you. “Now who’s the one lying?”

He only held you tighter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading ! 
> 
> This is my first time riding in second person and for TWD, Iots of firsts, I really hope you guys still liked it. 
> 
> If you did it please consider leaving a comment ! Or send me a message on tumblr, same name as here.


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